Couldn’t argue with that one. “I think your idea is great. I just . . . until I get my powers back, there’s nothing I can do.”
“Of course.” She gathered her things. “I have to get to work.”
“Work?” I asked, surprised.
“Yes. Like I said, I didn’t inherit a bazillion dollars. Some of us have to work for a living.” She started out the door. I almost ran after her, but she turned back to me before I had to lift a foot. “Just so you know, we weren’t the only ones watching over you.”
“Oh?” Each of her revelations were more disturbing than the last. I could only hope my hair had behaved during all of this.
“Ruthie’s coven. They’re all dying for an introduction. They’re so nice, Deph. Meeting you would be like me meeting Buddha. Or Jesus. Or Kurt Cobain.”
Wow. “Okay, well, maybe in a few days.” By then, I’d be outta here. So, so outta here. No way was I sticking around for what was to come. And neither was Nette. Or my dads. They just didn’t know it yet.
“Great, so—I almost forgot!” She put her bag back down and combed through it. “I bought you something.” She brought out a wooden box and ran it over to me.
“Really?”
“Yes. For when we open our business. It’s okay. I can take it back.”
I cradled it to me. “Let me see what it is first.”
She smiled in relief. “Okay.”
I lifted the dark wooden lid. Inside, lay a perfectly shaped crystal ball tucked into a blue satin lining with an iron pedestal. “Oh, my goodness. This is beautiful. I don’t think these really work though.”
“I figured, but it’ll make a great prop. You know, if we start Breadcrumbs, Inc.” She started to leave again, then turned back. “Then again, how do you know it won’t work if you don’t give it a shot?”
“Maybe, you know, if my powers come back.”
She nodded. “I got lots of stuff like that—a bible box, a spinning wheel, some tarot cards. And, according to the ads, they’re all authentic. They were really owned by witches.”
“Mm-hmm,” I said dubiously.
“’Kay, off to make coffee.”
“You make coffee for a living?” I was suddenly jealous.
“I do. I can’t wait to make you my famous pumpkin spiced cinnamon macchiato with vanilla bean whipped cream.”
A dam burst in my mouth at the thought. “Hey. Before you go, what did you tell Kyle, about me being . . . unavailable for so long?” My ex was a weasel. The marriage had lasted five years. The scars threatened to stay forever. No telling what he’d do if he found out I’d been a goner for six months. He and his mother had tried to snatch Percy from me after they’d already stolen everything else in the divorce. Stupid me for letting Kyle put everything, including my restaurant, in her name.
“Please.” Nette wrinkled her nose. “Why would I tell him anything?”
“I was just worried he’d snoop around. Maybe wonder where I was.” Panic over losing Percy welled up and overflowed.
“I wouldn’t stress about that. I think he and your monster-in-law—”
“Ex monster-in-law.” Thank God.
“Right. I they got the message loud and clear when the chief ran them out of town the first time.” Satisfied that she’d calmed my concern—or maybe she was just late for my dream job—she took off.
On my way to the bathroom to clean up, I took the scenic route through the kitchen and did a drive-by past the coffee maker for a scalding cup of brew that definitely wasn’t a pumpkin spiced cinnamon macchiato with vanilla bean whipped cream. Then I ran upstairs before anyone—and by anyone, I pretty much meant Roane—could see me.
There was nothing like a hot shower and a cup of coffee after a six-month nap. Feeling much refreshed with cleaner hair, I took the stairs to the basement and stopped in a small foyerlike area at the bottom.
I had my choice of three closed doors, one on each wall. It was like the game cups, except I knew what was underneath two of them already.
The one on the right led to Roane’s immaculate apartment. The one on the left led to Ruthie’s arts and craft room, though I hadn’t known she’d called it that until now. And her kind of arts and crafts involved anything but construction paper and glue sticks. Though the more I thought about it, witchcraft was more of an art than a science.
The door in front of me had been locked the last time I’d visited the dungeons. I had no idea what lay in wait behind it. I tested the antique lever handle again. Still locked. I felt a presence behind the door. Though I recognized it—its scent and texture—I couldn’t tell if it was friendly or malevolent, so I decided to leave it alone for now.
While I did need to apologize to the hottie next door, facing my murderous grandmother seemed like the more appealing option. Turning left, I stood in front of the portal to her humble abode. Could she even answer the door, with her being dead and all? And more important, did I want her to?
It took some heavy lifting, a little Lamaze breathing, and a lot of repressing, but I finally raised my hand and knocked.
Three
Not to brag or anything,
but I got the high score on my scale today.
-True Fact
Ruthie did answer the door, and she stood there as beautiful and ethereal as ever.
Judging by her expression, she was only a little surprised to see me. “Defiance,” she said, her voice hesitant. “You woke up.”
“That’s the story.”
“They told me, of course, but I didn’t . . . I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me.”
She read me like a tabloid. Could this be any more awkward? What did one say to the woman who killed her mother? Hey Gigi, how’s it hanging? Want to grab a latte? Although a latte sounded fab at the moment. With extra, extra whip. Damn Annette and her new job.
Ruthie touched her hair—a silver bob, perfectly coiffed—that didn’t quite reach her shoulders. That and her general disposition were the same as when I’d pulled her from the veil. But her dress was different. It wasn’t the cream-colored one she’d been wearing the whole time she’d been “stuck” in my laptop.
This dress was more like the gown I’d woken up in. Layers of soft ivory gauze with lettuce edges gave her a shabby-chic appearance any witch would be proud of. Even wrapped in faux-tattered clothes, she had the bearing and grace of royalty.
Then again, it could’ve been the soft luminescence that encompassed her.
After opening the door farther, she waved me inside and stepped back almost nervously, as if she expected me to decline the invitation.
Part of me wanted to. The other part walked in.
A huge variety of dried flowers and herbs hung from a low ceiling. Vintage jars of every shape and size sat atop dozens of shelves that lined the walls. But the thing that drew me the most, that had drawn me the first time I’d seen the room, was the lighting. Gas lamps hung every few feet, burning with a soft hiss that was hardly audible, unless you listened for it specifically.
“I’ve been doing research.” Ruthie walked over to a table scattered with books. She moved a cup of tea to the side and thumbed through one of the many ancient texts. “Contacting friends from all over. We’ve held circles and cast spells of protection and summoned your sisters.” Her hands shook. “I knew you’d be okay. I knew it.” She drew in a deep breath and turned away, hiding her face.